Unitl We Meet Again
by astarwholistens
Summary: This short story narrates an encounter between Sethos and Margaret Minton, set directly after Book 13 - Lord of the Silent.
1. Chapter 1

Occurs directly after Lord of the Silent.

All rights to characters, places, and story themes belong to the author of the Amelia Peabody Series, Elizabeth Peters. I am merely borrowing them.

I've never known anyone to be so irritating, thought Sethos in response to the woman that was making her way towards him. He had paused to be greeted by the host, whom he could never recall the name of, in the entrance to the dining salon of the Luxor Hotel. While the gentleman welcomed him back, Sethos had surreptitiously glanced around the room to ascertain that the Emersons, younger nor older, were not lying in wait for him. Amelia had always declared that she would know him anywhere, and in any disguise, and it would seem that her doppelgänger, Margaret, could now also make that distinction. Fortunately for him, Amelia was not waiting for him. Unfortunately, Margaret was.

He had known it was foolish of him to return to the role of the Honourable Edmund Whitbread, but he knew it would be suspicious if he disappeared after keeping a room rented, especially with the concierge and several others expecting his return. It was dangerous to leave loose ends with the games he now played. There was only one reason why he had not already packed up and left Luxor, and that reason was his comrade, Algernon Bracegirdle-Boisdragon, or as Amelia called him, Mr. Smith. He had sent a coded telegram to Algernon a few days previous with a time in which to meet. The 'where' however, had already been decided. Both men had been staying at the Luxor Hotel playing the roles of tourists, and where better for acquaintances to have a friendly chat, but in the dining salon. It would be much less conspicuous for them to be caught dining together than engaging in a private discussion in some back-alley. Sethos had arrived a quarter of an hour early, hoping to dispel any assumptions of weakness from Algernon. He knew it would not be wise to showcase any symptoms of sickness. Thankfully he had recovered from his recent bout of Malaria, but the sickness had taken its tole, however, and he had needed to use extra padding and other cheap tricks to disguise himself as proportionally as before. Even if they were on the same side of this war, he refused to give anyone any reason to doubt his competence.

Margaret had been sitting alone at a small table with her back to the wall - before the host was able to finish his greeting, she rose from her chair and strode across the salon with purpose, her eyes flashing with fury. That fury was somewhat justified - he had left her at the mercy of the Emersons, sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night like a common thief. He refrained from dwelling on the guilt he felt for that, knowing that he could not, and would not, be accountable to anyone.

"Miss Minton!" He exclaimed jovially as she bore down on him. "How good to see you again." He prayed that she would not cause a scene.

"I knew I would find you here! After everything that has happened, you ju..."

"Why don't we take this conversation out into the garden. It's a beautiful day." He spoke with an authority that cut her off mid-sentence. He took her by the elbow and led her away from the onlookers. He expected her to pull away and start shouting again, but she simply allowed him to lead her onward, through the lobby and out the door that led outside. Thankfully the sun was moving high in the sky, forcing most of tourists inside in the search for shade and refreshment, leaving the gardens relatively empty. He led her to a bench in the middle of a patch of bright flowers. As he sat, he pulled her down with him, hoping they appeared as normal as possible.

The moment they sat, she pulled her arm away. "You don't have to treat me like a child."

"Evidentially, I do. Did it ever occur to you that raising your voice in the middle of a crowded place makes you memorable? And being the object of your wrath, includes me in the gossip people will now be spreading." He kept his voice low, but did not hide the anger he felt. If the wrong person heard that his character was being accused of scorning a woman journalist, after all the work he had put into building his charade of the wealthy, generous, and above all, honest tourist, he could end up in a jail cell, or worse.

"You didn't have to run out on me, on all of us, like that. Do you know what it is like to wake up to find that the sick and injured man we have been painstakingly trying to help has vanished?" She kept her voice as low as his, but the venom in her voice betrayed her underlying fear. She knew what he was - a thief and a spy - and yet, she seemed to think him an honest man. Oh, he tried to be honest, at least in his personal life, but this was not personal. This was business. Only one other man understood the risks that came with the job, that man was his nephew, Ramses. He had hoped that when his extended family woke to find him gone, Ramses would take care to explain the reasoning behind his devious actions.

"I would appreciate if you refrained from accosting me in public in the future. You may know me while in disguise, but if anyone were to figure out that I was not who I seem to be, I can assure you I would not be around long enough for you to exact your own revenge. If you demand an explanation for my leaving, I suggest you talk with Ramses. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do." He emulated the venom in her voice, hoping to frighten her. He stood to leave.

"It would take more than a bit of anger to get rid of me... I will not go to Ramses for answers, I want them from you. It would cause you a whole lot less grief if you agreed to speak to me. If not, I swear to you..."

He cut her off again, "You swear what? To cause me trouble? My dear Margaret, you've already caused me enough trouble to last a lifetime. Do you still have your room here? Good. Go upstairs and wait for me. I will come to you when I can. I cannot, however, promise you that you will like the answers I have to your questions." He began to walk back to the dining salon. He hoped Algernon had not beaten him there, he did not wish to excuse his slower-than-usual gait.

"Do you promise you'll come?" Margaret called after him. He turned his head slightly as if he were going to look back at her but did not. He felt as if she were questioning his character. He continued walking away, deciding not to dignify her question with a response.


	2. Chapter 2

Occurs directly after Lord of the Silent.

All rights to characters, places, and story themes belong to the author of the Amelia Peabody Series, Elizabeth Peters. I am merely borrowing them.

As Sethos reached the dining salon, he could feel the stares of those around him. Damn, the woman, he thought, as he openly gazed around for his companion. The host hurried over to show him to his table, inquiring whether everything with the "lady journalist"  
had been resolved. Sethos let out an audible sigh when he realized that his little distraction did not cause him to be late for his meeting. Algernon entered the dining salon just the waiter was placing a glass of water on the table.

"Good afternoon, my good fellow." Algernon said, coming up behind the waiter. "How was your visit to Assuan? You were gone longer than anticipated. Did you find buried treasure there?" A hearty chuckle followed this remark, reminding Sethos why he disliked  
the man standing in front of him.

"Why don't you join me for lunch and I'll tell you all about it." Sethos replied, acting as cool and confident as ever. Although, he did not feel cool and confident. He was dreading the conference he had to attend afterwards. What was that feeling in  
the pit of his stomach. Nervousness? He hadn't had that feeling in so long, he almost forgot it was an emotion. He ordered a whiskey and soda.

Several hours had passed since he had left Margaret in the gardens. He had updated his contact, packed his fewbelongings, left the hotel, and was squatting with the other beggars at the train station before regret washed over him. He had tried to  
keep himself busy planning his next move to keep her off his mind, before realizing that running would do no good. She claimed that she would cause him trouble if he did not answer her questions, and he believed her. He could only imagine the extent  
of her contact list. A few strategically sent telegrams would have the entire war office looking for him. He did not doubt she would do it either. He wondered how long it would take her to put her schemes into action, hoping she would wait at least  
a day. He had business to attend, and could not leave until he passed along the note he had hidden in the inside pocket of his sleeve.

Before he was able to return to Margaret, he needed to find another disguise. He only had the clothing he had borrowed from Ramses, and he could very well not walk back into the Luxor Hotel as Whitbread, simply to visit the woman whom he dragged out of  
the dining salon. That would certainly raise a few eyebrows. Besides, Whitbread had boarded the train to Cairo, and would no longer be seen in Luxor. The best disguise he could come up with on such short notice would be to enter the hotel as a safragi.  
It would not be the first time he had donned the disguise as a hotel employee, and it should not be difficult to procure the necessary items. All he had to do was bribe a current worker to allow him to borrow his garments for a few hours.

As he waited patiently outside the servants' entrance to the hotel, he took the time to formulate a lecture. He needed Margaret to understand that he was not husband material. He knew her feelings for him - how could he not after all she had done for  
him. What he did not know was to what limit he needed to go to dissuade her of any notion of sharing a life together. Other than their first encounter, when he could not help but take advantage of the circumstances they had shared, he had done nothing  
to entice her. On the contrary, he had used every advantage he had to convince her that they could never be. And if she was only using him for a story, then he would need to cut off contact all together. There was nothing in this world more precious  
to Sethos than his life. If his actions were revealed, it would only be a matter of time before he was taken care of.

There was one more reason why he did not wish to associate with Margaret. If anything were to happen to her because of him, he would never forgive himself. This was the thought he refused to allow to flourish in his mind. The suggestion that something  
may become more important to him than life itself scared him half to death. He had seen with his own eyes what that kind of love could do. His brother felt it with his wife, Amelia; his nephew felt it with his wife, Nefret. Simply imagining going  
through what he had put his own brother through for a woman made his spine tingle. Before the war, when he had only been The Master, all he wanted was to take from his brother what had been taken from him... everything. That was what Amelia was to  
Radcliffe. Since the war had started, Sethos had softened towards his brother. He saw what happened to men who lost everything - he did not what that for his only family.

Sethos jumped as another native sauntered passed him. He had been waiting behind the hotel for nearly an hour, lost in thought. He had had no luck; his offer had been rejected by at least a handful of people. The longer he was forced to wait outside,  
the higher the chance that Margaret would do something ill-advised. He had to get into that hotel!

Suddenly, an idea hit him. Perhaps he did not need to sneak inside, he could simply walk through the front door. He added to his current disguise as a beggar, ripping the pockets out of his galabeeyah, and added extra dirt to his brow and hands. He put  
the small pieces of cloth in his cheeks, making himself look as if he was feigning the disguise of a beggar. He did not have a piece of glass or a mirror to confirm his suspicions, but he believed it to be good enough. He rounded the hotel and walked  
up the steps. Before he passed through the front door, he was beseeched by the assistant manager to leave at once. Sethos raised his voice and declared,

"It is I, Emerson Effendi, and I require assistance." Sethos knew that he bared a close enough resemblance to his brother that, coupled with the "improvements" he had made to his disguise, mere acquaintances would have no difficulty believing the lie.  
Within a minute, he had been swept inside, and placed in the manager's office. Sethos explained that he was to make contact with an informant who was staying in the hotel, and what he required. The assistance manager had been able to provide a suit,  
which would probably fit him rather poorly, and the key to a certain room in the hotel. He thanked the man in a way only Emerson himself would, dropped several coins onto the desk, and retreated to the lavatory to change and wash up. Once he was presentable,  
he made his way to the reception desk, requested that food and wine for two be delivered to Miss Minton's suite, and off he went.

It wasn't until he reached the door to her suite, did he give pause. What if she had already left? Would she have contacted Radcliffe about finding him still in Luxor? Sethos realized then, that he was afraid... afraid of losing something? Afraid of gaining  
something worth losing? He did not know. Before he could make a move, the door opened. Margaret peered out at him from a slit in the door.


	3. Chapter 3

Occurs directly after Lord of the Silent.

All rights to characters, places, and story themes belong to the author of the Amelia Peabody Series, Elizabeth Peters. I am merely borrowing them.

"I was afraid you weren't going to come." Margaret said meekly. The soft, almost reverent tone she used infuriated him. Where was the strong woman that stormed through the dining salon to accost him? Where was the woman who risked everything to drag his unconscious body miles upon miles to get him to medical help and safety?

"You said you thought of me as an honourable man once. Did you not believe I would keep my word?" He went to move towards her room, but held back when he realized that she had been crying. He did not want to press his company upon her if she did not want it. It did not surprise him to find that it pained him to think she did not want him anymore. He stood there, waiting for her to slam the door in his face, but instead, she opened it wider to allow him to enter.

When he passed her, he sensed that she hadn't been shedding tears or sorrow, but tears of rage. Her face was flushed, her garments were in disarray, and there was pottery, ink bottles, and papers littering the floor as if she had been throwing her belongings around in anger. He could only imagine what she had pretended to say to him. He heard her close the door, then something hit him in the shoulder - her purse, he saw as it landed on the floor next to his foot.

"How DARE you make me wait all day!" She screeched. "First you leave me in the garden with no answers, then you leave me waiting in my room until nightfall before you deem to show up! Where were you all day? Out waiting for me to give up and leave on my own... you're a coward, a sneak, a swine..." She had been pelting him with small objects throughout her tirade.

"Woman!" He retorted, "you wish to challenge me? To beat me with your merger possessions? Do you wish to live a life like this! Waiting on my return before you feel safe again? Because this is what it would be like... I, off only god-knows-where, doing god-knows-what, and you waiting to hear of my safety. I cannot promise you a happy life!" That certainly quieted her. He had not planned on introducing that subject himself, but if he was able to dissuade her of any notions that they would ride off into the sunset together, he would. Even if it broke his own heart to do it.

"Now," he said quietly, "Do you want your questions answered or not?" This time, he sounded like the meek one, waiting on her to decide where this conversation would lead.

She did not begin pestering him with questions as he suspected, but simply walked to the small table and sat down. He knew the subject of "them" had not been exhausted; she still had too much to say. He could see it in her eyes, and in the way in which she presented herself; she was simply stalling until she came up with the proper angle in which to continue.

"What makes you think I am looking for a happy, comfortable life with you? I am not asking for a house in the hills with a dozen children. I am a journalist – I became a journalist because I seek adventure. I came to Egypt for a life out of the ordinary. I am not looking for a husband, and I don't expect you to give anything up for me, just as I would not give anything up for you." This little speech certainly gave Sethos pause. He was saved from replying when a knock sounded at the door. As if this was his room and not hers, he went and flung open the door without hesitation, and, without uttering a word, stared down at the safragi.

The safragi in question was startled into silence by the gruff fellow who opened the door to Miss Minton's room, he thrusted the tray of food into Sethos's arms, and all but ran back down the corridor. The smell of what was on the tray made Sethos's stomach growl. He had not had the notion to eat all day. Without so much as a word to Margaret, he laid out their meals, and without even acknowledging her thanks, began attacking his own with ferocity. He grabbed his glass to take a sip before realizing he hadn't even poured the wine.  
Margaret took this task upon herself, he glanced up at the sound of her suppressing a small chuckle. He gave her a tentative smile. He knew he was being an ass, but did not take any pains to act any differently. They sat in silence for a while, eating their separate meals in peace.

Once he had satiated his initial hunger, he began eating slower, and said, "Don't you have a dozen or more questions for me? I did promise earlier that I would answer any you had as honestly as possible. I only ask that if anything I say upsets you, that you will act like the professional you are, and refrain from giving me any more bruises." He said the last part lightly, but her cheeks still flushed at the insinuation that she was abusing him.

She sat in silence for a moment before uttering, "Why? Why any of this?"

"You must be more clear, my dear, as much as I attempt to encourage the rumors, I am not omniscient; I cannot read your mind." They were sitting at ease now after finishing their dinner, drinking their wine.

"Why on earth did you kiss me? After rescuing me from the Emir?" She had to ask, even though she must have known the answer.

"I was playing a role. You unceremoniously complicated my scheme for that evening. I figured I may as well take advantage of the situation while you would still allow it." She nodded her head as he explained, as if he was merely confirming her suspicions.

"You disappeared afterwards. Where did you go?"

"That information I cannot divulge. It's difficult enough being a not so super secret spy, without confessing my actions to everyone I meet."

"I guess it would be foolish of me to ask why you returned to Luxor."

"I did not return for work from the war office, but for the reason you already know. I deemed it necessary to smoke out whomever was attempting to adopt my position as The Master as their own." He began explaining the first sign that he had noticed, attempting to make her laugh with anecdotes, and short stories of old heists he had pulled.

What am I doing, he thought as she snorted a laugh after a particularly embarrassing encounter he has once partook, this isn't what I came here for. He sobered slightly at that thought, just enough to request she ask her next question. They had finished the bottle of wine that had accompanied their supper, and had opened a second bottle that Margaret had been saving. Margaret eyed him a scant before looking away.

"Why can we not share a bond? You cannot say you don't feel anything for me. We have not known each other long, but I can tell." He knew this was coming, but it still shocked him to hear her speak of the matter with such frankness.

"Whether you are correct or not," he began. He could barely admit it to himself, let alone admit his affections to her, and yet he could not get any denials he wished to make passed the lump that had formed in the back of his throat. "My life is not conducive to romantic fancy. Even associating with my brother and his family puts us all at risk. If my enemies were to learn of my affiliation with you, or anyone for that matter, they could use that as leverage against me. I do not boast when I say that my role in this war is paramount. My skills and talents have earned me my share of enemies from the lowest gutter-rat to the highest ranking military officer. Therefore, I cannot bear any weaknesses. For if they were discovered, they would be exploited beyond imagining."

They both grew quiet after this, both lost in reverie. He knew Margaret had more questions, but he allowed her time to mull through his response before continuing the interview.


	4. Chapter 4

Occurs directly after Lord of the Silent.

All rights to characters, places, and story themes belong to the author of the Amelia Peabody Series, Elizabeth Peters. I am merely borrowing them.

The night had grown long by the time they had halted their discussion. Sounds from the outside world had all but disappeared, with the exception of animals and drunken tourists. Sethos glanced at the second bottle of wine to see what had been left, only to find it had also been emptied. By the way Margaret was listing in her chair, it seemed that they had had enough.

"There is a more comfortable chair is the next room, is there not?" He inquired.

"Yes, a chaise lounge. Why do you ask?" Margaret sounded as if she had been about to fall asleep sitting at the table.

"With your permission, I would appreciate you allowing me to spend the night. It would be difficult for me to find a safe resting place at this hour." He rose from his chair, back and legs paining with the soreness of sitting in one spot too long. He ambled towards the next room, hoping to wash up before resting. By the time he had come back, she had cleared the table and had begun picking up a few items from the floor. They had left the disarray untouched during their exchange mostly due to the fact that they had been too engrossed in their discussion to notice. As he stepped over pools of dried ink, and wrinkled pages, he felt a sense of responsibility for the damage. He decided then, that he would cover the bill for the cleanup. He wished he could do more for her, but knew from their chat that she would never allow it.

As he settled into the second room, all he wanted to do was curl up and sleep. He removed his jacket and shirt, laid down across the chaise lounge, draped his jacket over himself as a makeshift blanket, and bundled his shirt up into a pillow. He was as comfortable as he could be, given the circumstances, yet his alcohol-soaked brain would not allow him his slumber. He remained in a state of a waking doze, until he could lay there no longer. He could hear the springs of Margaret's bed squeaking as she tossed and turned. It would seem that he was not the only restless individual this night. As he sat up, his hearing picked up the sound of cloth brushing across the floor. Then the hush of the door to her bedroom opening.

She stood in the doorway confidently, without any remorse on her face. She glided into the room, and settled onto the chair next to him. Neither said a word. She laid her head on his shoulder as if she were in need of comfort. They sat together in the darkest of night, enjoying each other's company, both silently wishing it would not end. After a time, she raised her head. He turned to look at her, knowing full well his eyes were blazing with affection. In her eyes, he saw the emotion he felt reflected back to him; he kissed her.

The kiss was light and hesitant. He did not want to force himself on her like he had previously. This time, it would be her decision. He briefly pulled back to keep himself from losing control, but her lips followed his as she deepened the kiss. The kiss continued until they both were panting, lost together in a world of their own. Margaret pulled back first, eyes flashing with desire. She stood up, raised her nightgown above her knees, and lowered herself down while facing him so as to straddle his lap.

"Control yourself, you shameless woman." Sethos growled teasingly as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close.

"I am entirely without shame." She declared, "If one night is all I will get, then I will take what I can." She lowered her face towards his, and continued kissing him. Her hands explored his torso leaving trails of heat in their wake. Margaret acted without hesitation, touching and caressing him in a manner that drove him insane. He may not have been as young as he once was, but he could still give some a run for their money. He stood up, Margaret still straddling his hips, and walked her through the doorway towards her bed.

Sethos woke before the sun, as was his habit, and he was loathed to leave the comfort of her embrace. He moved quietly through the suite, collecting his shed garments, before readying to leave. He felt enormous guilt for not being able to say a proper goodbye, but he had work to do. Before leaving, he penned her a note:

My dearest Margaret,

I hope you understand why I could not stay.

If you are serious about taking such a risk for me, in three nights' time hang a scarf outside your window. I cannot promise when I will be able to see you again, but the scarf will allow me some semblance of peace while I am away.

If you are unable to stay here, leave a note penned to Mr. Rikard Delaney at the front desk. I will receive it. Do not say where you will be going; I will find you.

If I learn of no scarf nor note, I will presume that you have made the decision to leave "us" in the past.

The decision is yours.

Yours always,

Seth

He left the note on the pillow he had vacated, taking an extra moment to memorize the curves of her face. He then left the suite though the balcony, and down the trellis.


End file.
